


In Self-Indulgence

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Canon, Community: rounds_of_kink, F/M, Masturbation, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime between this morning and now, she’d felt guilty. It didn’t last. (Post-series, alternate canon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Self-Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> Kink and prompt for Rounds of Kink XXIII: Masturbation - Lazing in bed

Sometime between this morning and now, she’d felt guilty. It didn’t last. Michael, who was easily prone to a sense of guilt himself, made sure it didn’t last.

Leaving Mike to Lincoln and Sofia’s thoughtful care — they were always happy to baby-sit him, but weekends weren’t necessarily the best time with the scuba shop reaching a peak of activity — and obviously neither Sara nor Michael going to work. Lazing. Eating fruits and honey, and not always from a plate. Spending the whole Saturday in bed, and Sara didn’t see how tomorrow would be different. So self-indulgent.

Self-indulgence felt good, every now and then. They’d sure earned an occasional right to it.

She stretched in the rumpled sheets. Michael was still asleep near her; it had her scrunching her nose in disappointment. She was pleasantly sore from their last night’s... and this morning’s and early afternoon’s activities, mellow and relaxed, but restless nonetheless and so very ready to resume said activities. So self-indulgent too, especially when you’d lost track of how many times you had—

Her hand had slipped between her thighs without her own volition. Which probably topped everything else in terms of self-indulgence, considering Michael was right near her and they’d made love more times during the last twelve hours than she could remember. Not to mention that she was pleasantly sore.

She closed her eyes and leaned back into the pillows, her head tipping back a little, moved her fingers and summoned up the memories of what had led to her current pleasant soreness. Very, very effective. An appropriate tribute to their imagination and stamina from last night (and this morning and early afternoon). Michael had been so considerate and gentle at first, gradually turning wicked and wickeder, so bad in a so good way, until she begged and moaned, screamed and panted, and had — _had_ , if only for fairness, right? — to return the favor. Favors.

He’d dragged her down, really.

“Mind if I join you?”

She turned her head to the side and looked at Michael. She flushed but grinned and didn’t stop what she was doing. She didn’t ask for how long he’d been watching, and wouldn't have dreamed in a lifetime to play it offended that he’d been watching: she had been pleasuring herself after having been thoroughly and profusely pleasured, with her thorough and considerate husband sleeping near her, after all. She wouldn’t say she half-expected to get caught, but she didn’t quite expect _not_ to get caught either.

Michael’s cheeks were a bit flushed too, and he was definitely breathless, and looking at her as if he was about to devour her.

“Please,” she invited him, and if Michael was breathless, her own voice sounded as she’d begged and moaned, screamed and panted quite a few times in a few hours.

Well... there was some logic in that

Half-sitting against his pillows, Michael slipped his hands beneath the sheets pooled at his waist and Sara watched the soft cotton shift, her mouth simpering but her eyes dark and fixated on the tell-tale movements. Why should he be the only one watching, huh? She could enjoy this kind of show too.

Said show made her lose some of her coordination and slow down her self-caresses.

Another step into the self-indulgence, she decided.

And then, Michael’s hands were stroking her hip and cupping her own hand between her thighs, and she gasped because he’d moved faster than he should have been able to and was looming over her. He kissed her mouth and forced one of her digits inside her, slid one of his in too for good measure, and swallowed her sigh of pleasure.

Okay. This was so not what she had in mind when he asked if he could join her and she said yes and...

Managing to laugh and keep kissing her at the same time, he wrapped an arm around her, hoisted her, rolled her onto him, pushed her legs open... He positioned her to his liking before she could even register what was going on, and it was such an indecent position: her knees digging into the mattress on each side of him, her breasts almost in his face, one of his hands still around her waist and the other one reaching down, down, over her back, between her buttocks and then lower again between her legs. And she could feel him, hard and velvety, burning hot, straining against the most intimate part of her.

He liked it when she was on top. He liked that he could gaze at her to his heart’s content. She rode him last night — or was it this morning? — and he drank in the sight as she was writhing and coming undone. He followed her hard and fast. She would have tiny bruises on her hips for two days to prove how much he enjoyed it.

She tried to pull him inside her. He shook his head and stilled her gently.

“No, not like that. Please? Later. Let me...”

So slowly that it felt like a torture, he dragged his knuckles over her flesh, licking his lips when he felt how sleek, how wet and ready she was. She pushed back against his hand and nodded in earnest. God. Yes.

“Just trying to provide you with what you want,” he bantered. “You seemed to need someone to lend you a hand, when I woke up.”

“Smartass.”

Those damn fingers. He’d licked, kissed, fucked her quite a few times already so she probably shouldn’t have been so eager to feel those damn fingers inside her, by now. But he was good with them and, somehow, touching her that way made him merciless. Even more merciless, that was.

He moved her up a little bit, his forearm resting on the curve of her bottom, the palm of his hand pressing gently against her, and the fucking digits exploring, stroking and eventually pushing into her. He thrust, gently and with one finger at first, less and less gently and adding fingers as she was growing edgy and noisy. She held on to whatever she could grip. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d just wanted a quick relief, scratch an itch so to speak, and go back to sleep. She’d forgotten how much of an over-achiever Michael could be; how much he needed to do his best to give the people he loved what they needed.

Perfect reminder.

He craned his neck and latched on to her right breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth, at the same time that his fingers were stretching her. The stretch burned, but it was exactly the kind of burn she needed. The burn, and the way she ground down, rubbed herself against his erection and slicked it with her own arousal. She was encasing him. In a different way than she usually did, but not less pleasant for her, and certainly not less pleasant for him if the way his eyes opened wide and he snapped his hips up were any indication.

Her hand behind his head, she directed his face at her other breast. He obliged her, her breasts almost in his face. Her thighs around his waist, she bore down, her clit glided against the tip of his erection, and he growled and pleaded with her to do it again, again, again... Whimpers of need and pleasure and _now-please-now-Michael_ poured from her throat, and he crooked and pressed his fingers hard inside her.

It didn’t really matter how bad she lost it, did it? It wasn’t like she had any restraint or hint of modesty left. Restraint and modesty didn’t belong with self-indulgence anyway. Breathy moans and mind-blowing orgasms did, as well as dripping pleasure and barely enough strength left to move.

What also belonged to self-indulgence was a slow and satisfied grin when you realized that your husband had come from merely satisfying you — and to be fair from you rubbing onto him like there was no tomorrow — and that his release was warm and sticky on both your bellies. Michael blushed when she pressed her stomach into his and smirked, but he gave her a coy smile and a sloppy kiss. This was not how he’d planned to finish this. He had planned to— Well, they had all night and Sunday, he would show her later what he’d planned.

But she had to understand. She’d felt so good, sounded so into it, looked so hot, smelled so spicy: he self-indulged and gorged on her softness and warmth, and... other things like that wet and fragrant flesh he caressed so eagerly, those breasts tempting his lips and tongue, that mouth that uttered such beautiful moans and dirty words...

Dirty talk was kind of self-indulgent too, right after they both came — again. Sara shushed him, told him to save it for later; a couple of hours should do, if he was up to it and he rolled his eyes at her teasing.

She let herself slide into the even-more-rumpled sheets and snuggled up into Michael. His arms draped around her, he nestled his chin in the crook of her neck. She smiled when he matched his breathing to hers and nuzzled her hair, plastered himself tighter against her and fell asleep.

He sure looked like a man who planned on more self-indulgence when they woke up.

END

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